


The Path From Me To You

by ununoriginal



Series: Adorkable!Ryo [2]
Category: NewS (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, One of My Favorites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-30
Updated: 2008-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununoriginal/pseuds/ununoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The revelations that mark a relationship.  Ryo/Shige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path From Me To You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by random quotes from Rumi.

_**there is a path from me to you i'm constantly looking for.**_  
 _\----rumi_  
  
*  
  
 _the rose's rarest essence lives in the thorn_

  
You always thought that's how he was.    
  
Brash.  Frank to the point of rudeness.  Quick to anger.  Verbally unforgiving.  
  
A senior.  A star, lording it over the less experienced juniors, venting his malice at being forced into a group he neither expected nor wanted.  
  
Distant and proud.  
  
At sixteen, all these definitions were so clear to you.  
  
You were deeply sorry when Uchi got suspended, but in your coolly rational heart of hearts, you felt it was somehow karmic.  
  
Kusano's suspension and NewS' hiatus devastated you.    
  
He wasn't around when management announced the decision, but you thought you could predict his reaction – shocked, yet maybe a little relieved, though a little guilty because of it.  He still had Kanjani8, after all.  
  
Then you catch him inadvertently in the shower room after NewS' final concert in Sendai, kneeling upon the floor of the cubicle, body wracked with harsh sobs, and at nineteen, you learn that it's never that easy to label everything into neat little boxes.

  
*  
  
 _there is no room for me and thee_

  
He's changed, you feel, after the hiatus.  
  
You've changed too, the past half year away – starting college, working in dramas, meeting people from the wider world.  It's made you more confident, given you more poise.  
  
He's become more laid back, less controlling, more willing to consider other viewpoints and ideas, and you contemplate that maybe age and the passing time can mellow a person.  
  
He's more playful with you during the concerts, takes especial glee in the pranks that get played on you, but you don't feel the vindictiveness this time.  
  
You think this means you've gotten closer, that he's begun to consider you as more than an unwanted member of an unwanted group, that he values your input, your suggestions and opinions.  
  
Then on Shounen Club's abake, he admits that he truly can't speak to you at all.  
  
You're sharper now, and you don't take such sudden jabs lying down anymore, so you follow through on it pretty well.  You can give as good as you get now.  
  
But the inexplicable ache spreading within you tells you that when it comes to him, one and one never seems to be equal to two.

  
*  
  
 _you cannot touch me, but your light fills the ocean where i live_

  
You've decided that you're just two very different people.  In life, some people are meant to be friends, and others can never be more than acquaintances.  You can work with someone for years, but colleagues are all you're meant to be.  
  
There's no point crying if there's never any milk to be spilled in the first place.  
  
Besides, as your twentieth year wears on, your time gets increasingly occupied by Yamapi, ever since he took you out on your birthday.  
  
Koyama is still the main constant in your life, but getting to know Yamapi better is eye-opening.  Your illusions about the life of a top idol, the golden boy, slowly crumble and dissolve, to be replaced with a more realistic, down-to-earth understanding.  You no longer worry so much about what to say when Yamapi invites you out because the words now flow easily.  
  
Sometime he joins in as well, and it feels a bit like an odd trio, a triangle with three unequal sides.  But you gradually get used to it – Yamapi is there as a buffer anyway.  If anything, you could always share a chuckle over the silly things that emerge from Yamapi when he's drunk.  
  
Then one day you find yourself laughing uproariously with him in a bar, Yamapi nowhere in sight, and you find that you can't remember how it went from you and Yamapi, to you and Yamapi and him, to now just you and him.  
  
He turns around to signal a passing waiter for more drinks, and you realise that you know exactly what he will ask for before he makes the order.  It comes to you that in life, quite possibly nothing is set in stone.

  
*  
  
 _sit quietly and listen for a voice_

  
He comes down one evening to NTV at the height of drama-filming, saying he's looking for Uchi.  But for once, Uchi is out on location shooting, and you end up leaving the studios with him instead.  
  
He's in a weird mood throughout dinner and it's been a long time since you recall him being so quiet in private.  Eventually you find yourself standing next to him as he unlocks his apartment door, holding two six-packs from the convenience store in a plastic bag.  
  
When you step into his messy living room, it hits you that it's the first time you've ever been in his home.  
  
He gestures carelessly for you to sit as he goes rummage for snacks in the kitchen.  You sceptically eye his couch, littered with crumpled T-shirts and a couple pairs of jeans, weighed down by scattered volumes of manga and magazines, and choose to situate yourself on the tatami in front of the coffee table.  
  
He joins you there, and the two of you drink silently side by side.  You peek at him surreptitiously over the top of your can as you sip the cold beer, wondering if anything you say can ease the obvious strain upon his face.  
  
Suddenly he slumps forward onto the low table, nearly knocking off the empty cans lined up at the edge.  He's tired, he says, so tired he doesn't know why or how he keeps going on.  He wants to stop, he doesn't think he can go on doing this anymore.  It's too much, it feels like he can't breathe it's too much.  
  
His body trembles slightly as you rub a soothing hand over his back, feeling the warmth seep into your skin through his shirt as you run your fingers over his bony spine.  You don't answer for once, it is his night for speech.  
  
Then after you've helped him into his room and under the covers, after you've cleared the beer cans and put the unopened ones in the fridge, after you've gathered your coat and bag and closed his apartment door behind you, you realise that your hand is still tingling from the sensation of touching him.  The elevator doors 'ding' and open but what you see in your mind is his sleeping face.  
  
Your heart begins beating faster as, with a little despair, it dawns on you that he seems destined to forever challenge your definitions about life.

  
*

_you dance inside my chest, where no one sees you_

  
He doesn't come to your stageplay.  Kanjani8's schedule is full-on when NewS' activities gear down, and he's sent one or two apologetic sentences to your phone in the dead of night.  
  
You reply that it's alright, and you actually mean it because the feelings born on that strange night hasn't gone away, but has seemed to go from strength to strength, gaining momentum with each meeting, each smile, each indifferent touch.  
  
You force it out of your mind when you don't see him, and schoolwork and preparations for your stageplay are sufficient to do so, but nights when you're exhausted, the thought of him haunts you as you tread the line between sleep and waking.  
  
It's a relief you won't get to see him for a while because you believe that time and distance might help you regain your equilibrium.  
  
Then the last night you're in Osaka, you stumble to open your hotel room door, ready to lacerate whoever it is who's disrupted your much-craved rest after the final performance and a high-spirited wrap-up party.    
  
The accusations die in your throat as you see him fidgeting in the doorway, and moments later, you're sitting at the end of your bed, while he leans back against the dresser.  You make small talk for a bit, but the conversation tapers off and you find yourself slowly slipping into slumber, lazily falling back on top of the covers.  
  
The mattress dips beside you and you turn your head, heaving your drooping eyelids open to blearily see him, strangely formal on his knees in seiza.  
  
You never thought that's how you would receive the love confession of your dreams, complete with random roundabout stammering and downcast eyes.  
  
You reckon you'll probably freak out and panic in the morning, but right now, wrapped in the surreality of the moment, you reach out to cover one of his tightly-clenched fists resting on his knee, and pull him down so that he falls against you.  
  
You ignore the burst of pain from his elbow digging into your ribs as you sleepily smile and tell him you never used to believe in serendipity.


End file.
